Repast with the Past

Posted on Tue Mar 28th, 2023 @ 8:56pm by Captain Malcom Llwyedd & Lieutenant Jackson Smith & Kalstri Tenistion
Edited on on Sat Apr 1st, 2023 @ 10:23pm

2,247 words; about a 11 minute read

Mission: Prelude to Rebirth
Location: Cafeteria
Timeline: 10 February 2396

[ON]

Jackson’s heart continued to race as he sat up in his bed, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare. He could still feel the cold metal of his knife in his hand, the weight of his decision heavy on his conscience. The image of the young girl with her terrified expression and ill-fitting uniform had burned itself into his memory, and he couldn’t shake it off. He had killed many times before, was this one too many for him?
As he got out of bed, he could feel the sweat on his skin, the fear and adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, but the darkness inside him refused to dissipate. “Computer, time?” A soft woman’s voice responded, “It is 0328 hours.” It was still a few hours before his shift, sleep was out of the question. Perhaps a walk would help. Jackson donned his uniform and proceeded out of his quarters and down the brightly lit corridor. The light removed all darkness from his environment but did nothing for what resided within him. Perhaps the cafeteria might help him, he thought.
As he walked towards the cafeteria, he couldn’t help but replay the events of that moment in his mind. To his companions his action probably appeared fast and instinctual, but to him it was filled with many decision moments. Points where he could have taken a different path, one that didn’t lead to death.
She couldn’t have been more than 18 years old. The look of sheer terror on her face imprinted into his memory as she turned from him and ran. Her light brown curls bouncing with each step she took. Jackson distinctly remembers that her Maquis uniform didn’t fit right. It was a size too big, perhaps a hand me down, or maybe she wasn’t finished growing. One, could he get to her before she pushed the alarm? Maybe, but too risky. Two, he could have drawn his phaser and stunned her. That might have been too loud, or there could be weapon’s fire detectors. Maybe, but too risky. He drew his knife. It was silent, efficient, and effective. Three, he could have used a different grip and a twist with his wrist to send the pommel of the knife into the back of her head. Would it knock her out? Maybe, but too risky. Jackson sent the deadly pointed blade slicing through the air into the back of her neck. Her body immediately collapsed to the floor, appearing lifeless. To his companions, it probably appeared that he had killed her with that strike, but Jackson knew better. There was still one more decision moment, one more chance to spare her life. With speed they had crossed the room. Jackson quickly knelt to retrieve his knife. She was paralyzed. Maybe she could survive, maybe someone could have come to help her. Maybe she didn’t get a good look at them. Maybe she wouldn’t ruin their mission. Maybe, but too risky. Four, as he pulled the knife out, he twisted it, ending the life of this young girl.

Luckily the corridor was deserted, and no one could see the pain on Jackson’s face as he relived that moment and all those decisions. They had saved many lives with their mission, but not the young, nameless Maquis girl.

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Malcom looked down at his plate of food. It was standard fare for him at this incredibly early hour of the day. Three eggs, bacon, toast, and some orange juice. He glanced around the mess hall. Still deserted. Well, except for Kalstri, who was humming some lyrical tune and making some sort of pastry. He hadn't expected to see the ship's chef and in fact, hadn't been sure he'd return before the launch. But he was grateful that his late night or early morning depending on your viewpoint, hunger had resulted in a real meal instead of replicator food.

His eyes passed over the chef and took in the new space. He couldn't help but compare the beautiful new space, complete with larger windows, more comfortable seating, and a much more complete kitchen to what it had looked like after the Romulan disruptors had vented the compartment to space. Kalstri survived on sheer luck, having been in one of the storage compartments looking for Andorian Belas root and an emergency force field.

All of the musings couldn't keep the real cause of his inability to sleep. The ship was going to be launching soon and that should have made him happy. But Starfleet was so far up his rear end that when he spoke, he half expected it to be Admiral Lebell's voice instead of his own. He looked down at his plate and scooped up a forkful of egg.

Deep within his thoughts, Jackson wasn't immediately aware that he had walked into the cafeteria. It wasn't until the strong scent of a raktajino drifted toward him that he regained his senses. He looked up and there was Kalstri, Jackson was amazed at how he didn't notice the large four-armed Terellian before him. Kalstri gave Jackson a small knowing smile of empathy and handed him a decent sized mug of raktajino. Jackson, grabbed it, looked up at Kalstri and just gave him a small nod of thanks. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The steamy aroma seeped into him. It cleared his mind and gave him the energy he needed to face the day. Jackson opened his eyes and was about to thank Kalstri, but Kalstri was already back in the kitchen. Jackson grinned, sometimes Kalstri was a bit unnerving in his ability to help. He shook his head and looked around the cafeteria expecting to see a completely empty room. He was pleasantly surprised to see the captain there.

Jackson took a sip of his beverage as he made his way towards the captain. Jackson could already feel the liquid seemingly spread throughout his body awakening every muscle and nerve. As he approached the captain, Jackson nodded slightly, "It's a bit crowded here, mind if I join you?" He flashed a grin.

Malcom grunted. "You're welcome to sit but I don't know if I am going to be very good company. The only thing improving my mood is these eggs." Malcom said and then he pushed one of the chairs out, using his leg. "But we don't want to bother the rest of the crew," he said, gesturing at the rest of the crew. Kalstri saw him and waved.

Jackson cracked a smile as he sat down, he hadn't expected anyone to be here this early, but he was glad it was the captain. He leaned back in his chair and looked over at his one time mentor. Jackson saw the annoyance and concern. This was very different than their previous launch. The burden of command is a heavy one. Jackson sighed, as his gaze looked upon the red uniform, the pips. Something that he had once envisioned for himself. It seemed like ages ago that he had stepped onto the Firebird, eager and fully of energy. The only concern he had was making sure he didn't hit the docking struts on the way off to adventure. Jackson unconsciously brushed nothing off his grey uniform. The path he had first set out on was never to be.

"So, tell me, Jackson, why are you awake at this time of the day? Maybe there's an urgent message from command that will require us to deviate from the stem bolt deliveries and race off to actually do some good work. Because that would be a very welcome bit of news. I would also understand if you just wanted to beat the rush to get to Kalstri's food. Once the crew hears he is back this place is going to turn into a madhouse and we'll be lucky to get a sweet roll or one of those tasty smoothies he makes." Malcom said. He took a bite and examined his young friend, waiting to see what he would say.

"Yes, Kalstri is likely to be the main highlight of all our missions for quite some time." He took a sip of his raktajino. He looked over at his friend. For a brief second he considered maintaining a jovial atmosphere, but this was his captain. If there was a person to confide in, it was the man before him. The last few years Jackson had been through a lot, and the captain had always been there for him. As a mentor, a friend, and in a lot of cases the father he never truly had. He looked deep into his cup for a moment, then lifted his head and looked at the captain. "Nightmares."

Malcom chewed for a few moments, considering the succinct reply that Jackson had delivered. He certainly understood about nightmares. They had chased him over the years and the further he got from the Iowa and the trauma he'd experienced there, the harder the memories had hung on. They still were with him and he thought they always would be. He finished the sweet roll and picked up his fork. Now that he was paying attention, he could see the dark circles under his friend's eyes and the tenseness in his shoulders.

"Nightmares can really be a bitch," he said, stirring his eggs with the tines of the fork. "Anything in particular?"

Jackson looked at his captain, not quite ready to share this intimate of details with anyone, he sighed and turned the subject to something close but easier to discuss, "When I signed up for Star Fleet, this is not how I expected things to go. I imagined lots of hotshot flying and commanding people around. These last two years have been pretty intense. I know SFI won't let go of me, and I deserve this fate. Sometimes, though, I wish it could have played out differently." The weight of the last two years seemed to come crushing down on him. The pain within him surfacing through his eyes.

Malcom nodded. "I think that you did more than your share of hotshot flying while you were our pilot," Malcom said. "You are a natural pilot. Gifted even. But now you're my intelligence officer and you are gifted with that as well. Sometimes, often, things don't turn out the way we expect them to. But unless you want to deal with the Department of Temporal Investigations, I think you should try not to think about all the things that could have happened." Malcom took another bite of food and continued to talk.

"One of the things I've noticed is that your reports are coming in at all kinds of odd hours, which tells me you haven't been sleeping. I also know that you've pretty much been stuck in your offices, head down working. You're out of balance, Jackson. You need to find ways to get rid of the stress and let your mind free. The work will never be done."

Jackson thought back on that moment his life changed. The moment he was in front of those SFI officers. They had offered him a choice, dishonorable discharge or join Intelligence. At that moment, his dream of flying or even captaining a ship had died. It was really no choice. Now, he sat before his captain, not in the red uniform he once desired, but that of grey. As his mentor said, he needed to accept things. "You are right, it is what it is." Then he gave a half grin, "And as far as weird times and late hours..." He glanced around at the empty mess hall and stared pointedly at his captain, "Perhaps we both need to find some time to get back into balance...hey do you remember back in the academy days we used to have a weekly game of basketball? Maybe we can sucker some crew into something like that?

Malcom set down his fork. "Yes!" he said, waving his hands. "We should definitely get some of the crew involved. Except for B'rala because she will just kill us... and the ball. I don't think Klingons would appreciate basketball. But I bet Xavi, some of the new scientists, Gantt, Rhiana... we could have a good game." He picked his fork up again. "Even if we don't sleep better, at least we have a chance to relieve some stress."

Jackson downed the rest of his raktajino. "Sounds like a plan." He stood up, "I have some time before the workday starts, I will head to shake off some rust." He grinned for a moment that turned to a genuine smile, "Thanks captain."

Malcom stood up as well. "You're welcome. But I would be negligent in my duties if I didn't encourage you to seek some counseling as well. It helped me after the war," he said and held up a hand to stop Jackson from saying anything before he finished. "Just consider it, please."

Jackson hesitated for a moment and then nodded. "I will consider it." Jackson headed out ready to tackle the day.

[OFF]

Commander Malcom Llwyedd
Commanding Officer
USS Firebird NCC-88298

Lieutenant Jackson Smith
Chief Intelligence Officer
USS Firebird NCC-88298

 

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